


The Horrors of a Country Inn

by echoindarkness



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Community: sherlockkink, Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-26
Updated: 2010-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-10 19:40:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoindarkness/pseuds/echoindarkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes and Watson are on a case and miss the last train home. Shenanigans ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Horrors of a Country Inn

_"Most singular!" said the distant voice. "Most remarkable! I much fear, my dear Watson, that there is no return train to-night. I have unwittingly condemned you to the horrors of a country inn. However, there is always Nature, Watson--Nature and Josiah Amberley--you can be in close commune with both." I heard his dry chuckle as he turned away. - The Adventure of the Retired Colourman_

They were on a case. What's more, they were on a case in the country, the weather was foul, and they had missed the last train. Holmes had been chasing down some lead or another, but had not informed Watson of the actual details, and Watson was nearly sure his socks were ruined.

"Well Watson, I fear we will have to subject ourselves to the horrors of a country inn." Holmes said, grasping Watson by the elbow and towing him down the country lane.

The inn they found was small and slightly shabby, the supper they were served was only passable, and the only room available had only a single bed. A small single bed. When they checked in, the landlord assured them it was the only room available and went on to explain that there was a very comfortable settee if one of the gentleman would like to sleep on that instead. And he was very sorry for the small bed, but if either of them like some extra blankets, free of charge of course, he could have them brought up to make up for the inconvenience.

Watson had shared a bed before, he'd had brothers and lovers and even brothers-in-arms. He'd even shared a bed with Holmes on several occasions, and he was slightly uncomfortable with his own reactions to said occasions. Tonight would be uncomfortable, in more ways than one, but they would be home tomorrow, ensconced in their sitting room and sleeping in their _separate_ bedrooms. And tonight Holmes might not even sleep. Normally Watson would never encourage Holmes in his ridiculous lack of regard for his own well being, but if he could have his own bed after Holmes had dragged him all about the countryside he would not complain. And there was the settee, after all.

The sheets, Holmes declared after a thorough inspection, were musty smelling but appeared clean enough. The room was itself was chill and drafty and the bedding was spare. Watson poked at the fire and it spluttered in a desultory fashion. He put his shoes and socks on the hearth in hopes they would be dry or at least merely damp by morning.

They sat together for an hour or so, the doctor reading a copy of the local paper and Holmes smoking his pipe thoughtfully on the settee and staring at the fire. The room grew warm gradually, and Watson began to shake the chill of the brisk autumn evening, his head nodding on his chest.

"Watson!"

Watson jumped, startled out of his doze.

"Watson, go to bed." Holmes waved his hand dismissively and did not look up. Watson blinked and ran a hand over his eyes. Holmes didn’t pay the slightest attention to him when he dozed off at home, but Watson knew better than to question his friend when he was in one of these peremptory moods. Instead he rose from the chair and undressed quickly to avoid the chill, slightly cross at Holmes for waking him so abruptly.

The bedstead groaned when he lay down, the sheets were cold, and he had trouble easing his stiff shoulder into a comfortable position. The pillow was lumpy. He was beginning to despair of even getting a decent night's sleep alone and was not looking forward to traipsing around the countryside in damp shoes in the morning. He watched Holmes staring at the fire until he fell asleep, still feeling slightly cross. The last thing he remembered was the pipe smoke ringing Holmes' head and making odd patterns in the firelight.

He half-woke when Holmes got into bed, the movement causing the mattress to dip and the covers to shift. He was laying on his side facing toward the dying fire and dimly thought that he should get up and stoke it. It was awfully cold in the room. When he felt Holmes slide in behind him so they were back to back he felt vaguely more comfortable.

_It must be the added body heat_ he thought sleepily. He decided that he would not get up and stoke the fire after all. He was glad that Holmes had decided to sleep in the bed after all and snuggled down into his side of the bed before he fell asleep again.

It was the feeling of closeness that woke him the second time, not the touch of a hand on his brow or the sound of breathing in his ear. Those things were present too, as was the feeling of a body warm against him and a hand slowly rubbing small circles on his abdomen.

"Well Watson, finally awake?" Holmes said soft and low in his ear, and Watson knew that if he could see the face behind that voice it would have a mischievous smirk.

"Holmes?" Watson said, his voice sounding rough and unused.

"The hand on his brow skidded lower, caressing his cheek carelessly and sliding down past his breastbone, grazing a nipple as it passed to lay gently on his hip. He shivered.

"Yes Watson?" Holmes' fingers were drumming along the curve of Watson's hip.

"Holmes, what the devil are you doing?" Watson's voice was soft and thick, he did not feel alarmed as much as sleepy and slightly cross at being woken.

"Watson, I am performing an experiment. I know that your powers of deduction are not ideal at the best of times, but surely you can follow me that far." Holmes moved both hands to Watson's thighs as he talked. Watson thought that he should just roll out of Holmes' reach but then he realized he did not have the willpower.

"What kind of experiment Holmes?" He asked, sighing deeply.

"One that is really very important to modern scientific discovery." Holmes' lips were against his neck and he could feel Holmes' hands moving his underclothes down off of his hips.

"Very important to modern scientific discovery? In my underclothes?" They could banter in their sleep, and Watson wanted very much to return to his, but there were hands persistently moving along his body and they were becoming quite distracting. Not to mention the effect the body pressed up against him was having. He was too tired to be able to tell if this was one of those ever persistent and familiar dreams, but he was past caring.

"It very well may be Watson. It very well may be." Holmes' hands dipped and started stroking him gently, and Watson felt a warm heat run down his spine to his center.

Watson had an urge to roll his eyes at his friend, strangely contrasted with the curious feeling of the hands of that same friend doing some exquisite things to his nether regions. He sighed. "I am not going to be allowed to go back to sleep, am I?"

"I think not. Not for the moment anyway."

"Ah. And you are still going to insist I wake up and help you comb the countryside for evidence."

Holmes was moving his hands again, grazing the insides of Watson's thighs. It was getting very hard to think clearly.

"Quite so."

Watson gasped and bit his lip as clever fingers wrapped around his cock.

"Holmes." He tried to say it clearly and firmly, but it came out like a whimper.

"Yes Watson?"

"I -- ah! Holmes, what --ah-- has gotten into you?"

"Gotten into me? Why nothing at the moment my dear boy. Were you offering?"

"Holmes!"

"Come now Watson, don't tell me you've never wished for this." Holmes' voice was husky and had a tinge of something Watson had never heard before, longing perhaps, or need.

"I--" he began, but Holmes moved his thumb against the head of Watson's cock and he moaned.

"Watson, tell me what you've been longing for." Holmes's voice was insistent and he pressed light kisses behind Watson's ear.

"I don't know what you--"

"My dear boy, don't think I hadn't noticed. Why, last week when you were napping on the settee you called my name in your sleep."

Watson felt himself blush hotly, despite his current position in Holmes' arms.

"My dear fellow, I must apologi--"

"For what? My dear Watson, you see but you do not observe. Now please, prevarication will get you nowhere. Tell me what you've been longing for."

For moment Watson remained silent, aware of the smooth skin of Holmes' back beneath his chest and Holmes' long pale hands on his cock. _This was what he wanted, after all, so why hide it?_

"This." He took a deep breath. "You."

"Mmm, quite so." Holmes drew his knees up to cradle Watson more tightly and wrapped an arm across Watson's chest. "Now, my dear Watson, why ever didn't you mention it before?"

"Couldn't -- ah -- you're so damnably -- ah -- distant. Didn't -- oh good lord -- know what I wanted."

Holmes chuckled again and gave Watson's cock a squeeze, and the doctor's eyelids fluttered closed.

 

"It appears I will have to be more forward in the future." Holmes thrust into Watson's hips for emphasis and he could feel the hard length of Holmes' erection pressing against his backside.

"Unnh, I would appreciate -- _oh_ Holmes." Watson could feel the beginning spark of orgasm building at the base of his spine and he let his head drop back onto Holmes' shoulder. He felt Holmes' lips in his hair and on his neck and everywhere they could reach, frantic and warm and achingly familiar.

For several minutes there were no more words, just the sound of Holmes' breath in his ear, and the feel of his hips and his cock moving in time to his hands and Watson was convinced now that this must be a dream. Holmes' breath came fast and harsh as they moved together; sweat trickled between their bodies and Holmes thrust against him and whispered in his ear.

And then with a feeling like falling there were sparks behind Watson's eyes and he was pulsing in Holmes' hand and desperately trying to hold back his shout. Holmes followed him over, with a jerk and a sudden warm wetness on the backs of Watson's thighs and his face buried in Watson's hair.

They simply lay for a moment, trying to force breath back into their lungs. Watson felt his eyes closing so he tried to keep them open, to talk to Holmes about what just happened to clean himself up to...

When he woke he was warm and snug and surprisingly comfortable. There were arms wrapped around him and grey eyes peering at him with an expression of fond amusement. Watson peered back, thoroughly bemused.

"Holmes? Am I still asleep?"

Holmes' mouth quirked in a smile. "No my boy." He spoke softly, strands of dark hair falling into his eyes. "I trust you've been able to withstand the horrors of this little country inn without too much harm?"


End file.
